


Unaccountable for Mistakes Made Before Noon

by dogtit



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: comedy fic! dont take anything seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10133540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogtit/pseuds/dogtit
Summary: There were very few morning people in the recalled Overwatch, Hana realized.Or, an offscreen series of mistakes leads to misunderstandings, revenge, and morning drinking.





	

There were very few morning people in the recalled Overwatch, Hana realized. They weren’t necessarily a rarity, but few people shuffled around the Watchpoint before eight in the morning. Satya was one of them; Hana had watched her do morning yoga in the little makeshift gardens just outside, with Genji and Zenyatta quietly meditating nearby. Sometimes Hanzo would join them, but mostly he just hung out on the roof, like a weirdo.

Hana and Fareeha would wake up around the same time. Habit from waking up for drills, Fareeha would joke, and Hana would agree and challenge her to spar later in the day--after breakfast, of course.

Angela would do the what-the-fuck-is-a-sleep-schedule shuffle and wouldn’t respond to anything until she had two and a half cups of coffee (black, no sugar). By then, Fareeha would be in from a morning jog. The three of them would sit and gossip and Hana would bask in it. A few people--Mei, 76, Winston, Satya on occassion, _Lacroix_ \--tended to treat her like a kid out of her depth. While it only really, truly rankled when 76 did it (she’d put his wrinkled old ass through a wall if he growled ‘that’s _sir_ to you’ one more goddamn time), it got tiring altogether. 

Everyone else was okay, though. She liked talking with Angela and Fareeha the most; mainly because Angela understood how it was to live as a child prodigy in war, and Fareeha was always very willing to listen and talk shit. 

They sat together one such morning, Hana tucking into her _bibimbap_ while Fareeha went on and on about a mission in Numbani where she’d been on a team with the Junkers, Zenyatta, Lucio, and Reinhardt. 

“--And then we were expected to beat up a one month old traffic cop! And Junkrat almost blew her up even after we’d explained that it was all a misunderstanding, and that we were really the backup Orisa had needed. Then Reinhardt got hit with a car…” 

“Broke three ribs and fractured his shin,” Angela added, setting her coffee mug a little harder than need be on the table. “I keep _telling_ him not to play in traffic, but does he listen? _Nein_!”

The sounds of bare feet shuffling against the floor brought their attention to the other side of the kitchen. It was rare to see Lena awake before--Hana checked her phone under the table, and clicked her tongue in surprise--noon, much less nine. Fareeha snorted, suddenly, which made Hana snap her head back up. Lena had chosen to ignore them entirely, grumbling underneath her breath as she shambled for the fridge and opened it up. 

She leaned over, baggy sweatpants slipping down while the white tanktop rode up as she went to scratch her ass. Hana almost choked on a mouthful of rice at what she saw. Above the thin lines of an orange thong (not surprising, Hana observed) sat a tattoo in wildly gaudy text. It read, from what Hana could see, _Spider Rider_ and in between the two words sat a red hourglass. 

There was nothing but pure silence as Lena rooted around in the fridge, huffing. Hana looked to the left; Angela had pursed her lips together and her cheeks were growing flush with the effort of holding back her laughter. A glance to Fareeha saw very much the same. 

Finally, in a stage whisper, Hana said, “That’s pretty edgy, isn’t it?” 

“Oh,” Angela snickered, “my, well. It’s very, ah, _unique._ Quite the...nice font.” 

“Impressive amount of detail,” Fareeha played along, shoulders jerking. “Never seen it before. Shame.”

Lena shut the fridge with a haggard groan, leaning against it and skewing the chore wheel on its side as she squinted at them. Armed with the full picture, Hana was not disappointed. One side of Lena’s neck had no less than five fresh hickeys and her tank top read _Daddy’s Girl_ in somewhat faded print. Her hair was tousled into a mess that only time, a comb, and some strong gel could resolve. 

“Alright, then,” Lena said, her voice scratchy, “what are you gossipy bints on about now?” 

That was very much the straw that broke the camel’s back. Angela and Fareeha burst into laughter, while Hana grinned and leaned forward, propping her face in her hands. 

“Spider Rider, huh, Oxton? Can’t _imagine_ who that’s about.” 

Lena squinted at her before it finally clicked. With a yelp she snagged her sagging pants and yanked the waistband up to beneath her ribs, face as flustered red as the hickeys on her neck. 

“I-i-i-it’s not what you think!” Lena squeaked. “I, uh, you see it’s, um--it’s--it’s an old! Comic book I liked as a kid!” 

That just got Hana to laugh along too. Angela was wheezing, tears streaking down her cheeks; Fareeha slapped the table, causing the cups and bowls on its surface to rattle ominously with each hit. 

“ _Oh sod off,_ ” Lena whined, her arms covering her shirt and a hand clamping to the side of her neck. “It’s not even noon yet! I just wanted a snack before I went back to bed--” 

“Fair enough,” Fareeha managed, “after Lacroix made a snack out of _you._ ”

“I’ll pop you right in the nose, Amari, swear to God!” 

“Can you even _reach_ my nose?” 

Fareeha’s laughter sputtered into stunned silence as someone else walked in, wearing leggings and a shirt that said _I’m Daddy._ Angela almost spilled her coffee as she fumbled with it out of shock, and Hana’s near hyperventilating giggles caught and died in her throat. Ana Amari gave them all a cool once over, before looking over to Lena. With a completely straight face, she swatted Lena right on the ass.

“Excellent work last night, _habibti,_ ” she murmured. Then she brewed herself a cup of tea, and left without another word. 

There was nothing but quiet as they all began to process what had happened. Lena was equal parts flushed and pale; she shot Hana a questioning look, to which Hana shrugged helplessly. Angela pushed her coffee to the side, both hands covering her mouth. Fareeha made a few noises, trying to find something to say, and failing. 

“Wow,” Hana said, after a long moment. “Wow, uh, shit? Oh shit. Oh my God. Is this real life?” She felt like she’d just been thrown out of her MEKA at mach 2. _So have we been reading that tension with Lacroix all wrong, then? Damn, I owe Lucio five bucks..._

“I need a vodka rock,” Angela said quickly as she stood, eyes wide as she looked at something over Hana’s head. Hana turned, and saw Fareeha’s face twisting with _fury._ Time to go, then. 

“But it’s breakfast,” Hana managed, hurrying to scramble out of her chair and scooping up her _bibimbap_ on the way. 

“A vodka rock and a piece of toast,” Angela amended, and as Fareeha shot out of her chair and Lena bolted out the door with a shout, they ran the opposite way. 

\--

Amélie Lacroix did not consider herself a morning person before Overwatch’s fall, and much less after everything that happened once it had. Her body wasn’t built for long periods of activity, and it was slow to recover expended energy. 

And by all accounts, after last night, she should still have been in bed. But nature’s call, and her own growling stomach (and a lack of warmth from Lena, though she would die before she admitted that) had coaxed her out. That, and all the shouting. 

She had wondered where her lover had run off to. Standing in front of the window and watching Lena tear across the dewy grass, startling the Bastion unit and interrupting Vaswani’s morning rituals on the way, raised more questions than answers. Nothing was clarified as Fareeha Amari pounded after her, legs and arms pumping. It was like watching a lioness hunting down a cheetah. 

“ _You fucked my **mother, Oxton?!**_ ” Amari roared. 

“ _Fucking hell, no! I would never!_ ” Lena shrieked back as she leapt for a flagpole and started to scurry up it. Amélie was almost impressed. 

“ _So you’re saying my mother isn’t good enough for you?!_ ”

“ _What?! No! I-I’m sure your mother’s a wonderful lady of the night--_ ” 

“ _How dare you talk about my mother that way?! I’ll kill you, Lena Oxton!_ ” Fareeha started to climb up the pole herself.

“Enjoying the show?” Amélie jumped only slightly as Ana appeared next to her, sipping from a tea cup. “I know I am.”

“I...suppose.” Amélie’s eyes furrowed as she noticed Ana’s shirt. “Huh. I was looking for that...I’d wondered who’d swiped it from the laundry. Why would you…?”

“Revenge,” Ana replied simply, watching the travesty unfolding on the front lawn. Jack and Gabriel had been roused and someone was trying to talk Winston into boosting up to gather Lena from the top of the flag pole.

“For?” Amélie asked slowly, eyes on the disaster. At some point, Lena had given up trying to explain herself, and was shouting, ‘Fine, alright, I fucked your mum, shitlips! I FUCKED YOUR MUM!’ at full volume. It was a good thing they did not have neighbors, Amélie thought to herself. 

“Little Lena drank the last of my very expensive jasmine tea,” Ana answered, her voice tinged with a mocking regret. She sipped her tea again, pinky out, and sighed happily. Amélie took a healthy step to the side, putting a good distance between herself and Ana. “Do you want me wash this before I return it?” 

Amélie looked at the older woman, her disarmingly cheerful smile, and gulped. “You know what? Keep it. My gift to you.”

She could always buy another shirt.


End file.
